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Sparse blogging for the next few days, as I will be attending a conference in New York on The Secret Agenda of the Christian Right. I had planned to skip the annual Anti-Christian Hootenanny this year, but event organizers called last night and invited me to speak. So for two whole days, I'll enjoy the company of other progressive intellectuals, discussing ways to thwart the Christian conspiracy to replace our socialist utopia with a dominionist theocracy. It's not an ideal weekend, but it's better than sitting in a church on Sunday listening to a bunch of self-righteous blowhards blubber about the end of the world. Besides, I'm kind of looking forward to getting my chakras balanced with a good, old fashioned shiatsu enema. After two days of slamming Christians, there's nothing like a full energy healing of your Essence Domain to take your mind off the silly superstitions of the Religious Right.

Anyway, I prepared two speeches on the insidious evil of the Christian Right: Church Bake Sales, What You Can Do About Them and Christian Homeless Shelters, The Secret Right-Wing Agenda to Lure the Mentally-Ill Away from the Democrat Party. Conference suits thought the Bake Sales exposé wasn't anti-Christian enough, so instead I'll read from my unpublished underground leaflet, B-I-N-G-O spells "Theocracy".

Here's an excerpt:

"Although we are gathered here today to discuss a Final Solution to the Christian Problem, I must stress that we should in no way condone violence against Christians.

(pause for laughter)

No! Really! Although the Christian religion has been responsible for most of the human suffering in the world for the past 2000 years, now is not the time for paybacks. Calling for their systematic extermination will only fuel their paranoid fantasies about religious persecution and the "End Times". Rather, we must concentrate our efforts on mocking, ridiculing, and demonizing them in the media until we've exposed them for the intolerant bigots they are. Once we've marginalized and isolated them within a metaphorical walled ghetto of shame, we can purge society of their holier-than-thoustench, so they will no longer be able to poison the impressionable minds of our children with their warped ideas about "right" and "wrong".

Now don't get me wrong. I don't hate Christians. I am a Christian.

(pause for laughter)

No! Really! But as a Christian, I refuse to allow my religious beliefs to interfere with my political philosophy, whereas the zealots of the Christian Right never fail to let their religious beliefs interfere with my political philosophy.

Allow me to enlighten you with an amusing anecdote that illustrates my point, while cleverly whitewashing my religious bigotry with folksy humor.

As a high school student, I found myself among a growing group of disenfranchised youths who were cruelly denied the right to participate in extra-curricular sporting activities because of our spindly, spiderlike arms and complete lack of physical coordination. If only they had given out letters for superb spelling, I would have had enough for ten Letterman's jackets.

(pause for laughter)

No! Really! Rejected from the school-sponsored basketball team because of an antiquated "rulebook" written centuries ago by primitive jocks, we decided to create our own kinder, gentler version of the sport where dribbling was optional, the hoops were 5 feet off the ground, and opposing players were required to clear a path between you and the basket. By learning to work together instead of competing against one another, we could all concentrate on the real purpose of the game - having fun. Many an afternoon was spent enjoying our new egalitarian sport, though players from the official school team would often come by, call us "wussies", and threaten to snap our spines like twigs. And that was just the girl's basketball team.

This was my first taste of so-called "Christian Compassion".

(strike pensive Spock pose, slowly pace back and forth)

Years later, I would walk into a church-operated BINGO hall and experience the very same sort of bigotry and intolerance. After several hours of mindlessly placing red chips on numbered cards, I was approached by a church elder who said that I "didn't belong there", and that I would have to leave. "WHAT'S THE MATTER?" I screamed. " AFRAID TO HAVE SOMEONE AROUND WITH MORE SPIRITUALLY ENLIGHTENED RELIGIOUS VIEWS THAN YOUR OWN? OR IS IT THAT YOU JUST CAN'T TAKE A LITTLE COMPETITION, YOU SPINDLY-ARMED WUSSY?"

No, he said. It was a Senior Center, and you had to be over 65 years old to participate. Well, with an attitude like that, I was happy to leave - but not without taking the 12 cans of stewed prunes I had won fair and square.

(pause for effect. adjust tinfoil hat.)

We've tried to join their churches. They called us "sinners". We tried to update their religion to be more compatible with our enlightened lifestyles. They called us "heretics". We tried to combine their religious beliefs with our socialist utopian ideals. They called it "Jonestown". Now, the only hope we have to save America from the radical extremist Christian right and restore it to the godless orgy of sex and violence that our athiest Founding Fathers envisioned, is to recreate God in a more progressive image, one with the nurturing compassion of Bill Clinton, the social conscience of Michael Moore, and the libido of Ron Jeremy. Only then can gay transgendered abortionists walk the streets at night without being assaulted by radical Christian hate groups like the Cub Scouts."

At the conclusion of the conference, we plan to march uptown and demonstrate against the hateful anti-muslim bigotry of the three day "The Secret Agenda of Islamic Fundamentalists" series of lectures at Madison Square Garden.

"...A man in dark hood and cape, standing on a cardboard box with electrodes hooked to his body. Naked men simulating lewd acts on each other. Naked civilians being chased by dogs. Rape. Murder. Sexual deviance. Free balloons for the kids. Everyone's invited out to Martha's Vineyard this Saturday for a traditional Kennedy Family weekend. But now, on to more serious business - the one-year anniversary of the horrible atrocities committed at Abu Ghraib."

It took him eleven tries to pronounce "Abu Ghraib". He finally settled on something close to "Abba Bin Babba" and concluded his momentous speech by accidentally knocking his cocktail off the podium and staggering out of the room. I sat there staring at the TV for several moments, moved to tears by his effluvial oratory, before I was suddenly overcome by a wave of panic.

"Occupied Iraq?" "Deepest fall from grace in our history"? Good Goddess, the troops are going to think we're all bunch of slavering, America-hating moonbats! That drunken, yet factually correct imbecile is going to completely blow our cover! We'll never convince the murderous troops to desert now!

I had to do something and quick. I picked up the phone and called all my Support Our Murderous Troops buddies for an emergency meeting at my place. Together, we'd devise a way to repair the damage that Senator Kennedy had wrought and show our murderous troops there were no hard feelings. Several hours of discussion and about 40 bongs hits later, we decided to send a care package to a random murderous troop, along with letters of support and encouragement (although such support and encouragement must in no way be construed as support for Bush or his illegal and immoral war on terror).

This was no easy task. Many of us are still suffering from Post-Wedgie Stress Disorder, thanks to the very same bullying jocks who are now serving in Iraq. Some of our more sensitive members break into high-pitched, feminine shrieking at the mere mention of the troops. But once I had finally shrieked myself hoarse, it was decided that I would write one letter for all of us, and everyone else would sign their name to it provided they could stop trembling with fear long enough to grasp a pen.

After a few rough drafts, I produced a final version that everyone was happy with, one that expressed the love we have for the brave men and womyn fighting overseas, while effectively conveying our patriotic disgust for the job they are doing:

Dear Mindless Drone of the Military-Industrial Complex,

We the members of Support Our Murderous Troops would like to express our thanks for your courageous service, although it must in no way be construed as support for Bush or his illegal and immoral war on terror. Unlike the kneejerk jingoists who think that "patriotism" means slapping a yellow ribbon on the back of their SUV, Support Our Murderous Troops believes that the best way to show support for our murderous troops is to bring them home as quickly as possible, preferably with their tails tucked between their legs.

Today marks the one-year anniversary of the Abu Ghraib attrocities. You're probably already getting ready to torture a few innocents in celebration, but we're not here to judge you. Support Our Murderous Troops fully understands that low pay, the lack of basic armor and equipment, poor training, and general incompetence is a severe strain on your morale. With expressions of artistic freedom frowned upon, and consensual, same-sex relationships strongly discouraged if not expressly forbidden, the Pentagon has essentially denied you the means to relieve the everyday stress of battle. As a result, the primitive, neanderthal beserker bloodlust you developed in basic training has manifested itself into ghastly acts of brutal, inhuman aggression against the innocent Iraqi peoples, jeopardizing our standing in the international community as well as our crediblity with Al Qaeda and the Taliban. This is by no means your fault, but rather symptomatic of failed leadership at the highest level.

NO! It WAS your fault! I know it was you, Mike Jankowski! You're the one who snuck up behind me outside 4th Period English Lit and yanked my underwear all the way up over my head! Don't try to deny it, you fascist bastard! You were a violent, aggressive cro-mag then and you are NOW!!!!!

In conclusion, the members of Support Our Murderous Troops pray in a completely non-proselytizing manner that you come home safe, although this prayer must in no way be construed as support for Bush or his illegal and immoral war on terror.

In the sincerest hopes that we can, in some way, boost your morale and assuage some of the guilt you must be feeling for all your crimes against humanity, we offer the enclosed items as a token of our undying gratitude:

A photo mosaic of Bush made from the faces of your dead buddies.
A signed copy of Jane Fonda's autobiography.
Some rainbow stickers for the back of your humvee.
A transcript of John Kerry's heroic Winter Soldier Testimony.
A G.I. Joe doll with a black hood over its head and electrodes attached to his body in a fashion reminiscent of Jingus Khan.A photo of Ted Kennedy with his shirt off, in a fashion reminscent of Jabba the Hutt.

In addition, the three young womyn in our group asked to include some very special polaroids to "remind ya'll what you're fightin' for." So enclosed, please find several photographs of an oil derrick in Texas.

Chin up and goddess bless,

Support Our Murderous Troops

P.S. aforementioned "undying gratitude" must in no way be construed as support for Bush or his illegal and immoral war on terror.

We addressed the package to "Any Murderous Troop in Iraq", with the added disclaimer: "This care package must in no way be construed as support for Bush or his illegal and immoral war on terror" written in small print.

Unfortunately, it never made it to Iraq. I dropped the package off at the post office at 3 o'clock yesterday, and at 7 o'clock this morning the Postal Nazis were banging on my door, demanding to know why I was trying to send a half-wrapped bong to someone named "Abba Bin Babba".

Now before you accuse me of going all mainstream on you, please, hear me out.

I had hoped that by hitching my star to internet diva Iddybud, a veritible tsunami of visitors would flood into my blog, and my name would spread across the blogosphere like syphillis through a Bangkok cathouse. But aside from affording me the opportunity to use the Bangkok Cathouse simile again, honoring her as Liberal Larry's Blog of the Week has turned out to be an exercise in futility. I got one measly hit from zenmaster Hunter S. Warbucks and that was it. So I've shamefully had to whore myself out to Blog Carnivals like a side-show geek. Little did I know that I'm supposed to offer a reciprocal link back to their blog in return. Tit for tat, Clarice. They give something of value, and then they selfishly expect something of value back. It defies every fundamental precept of socialist theory!

I guess I could simply skip out my "responsibilities" the way Bush did in the Texas Air National Guard, but liberals aren't allowed the same luxury as the sons of wealthy Republican congressmen. I don't want the jackbooted Blog Nazis dragging me out from under my sink in the dead of night like they did with the Dixie Chicks. Besides, a "Link Dump" will be a perfect excuse for not posting anything substantive today.

Goddess help me, my recent post on cat hunting made it into the latest Carnival of the Cats, and I have no one to blame but myself.

My Crazy Freak Fetus article made it into the Best of Me Symphony. If you haven't read it, be sure to go there and click the link, which will lead you back here. What will these internet wizards think of next?

Reader "Mike B." sent a link to an article on a progressive idea whose time has come: Free Poopin' Babies. In order to prevent the planet from being buried under a mountain of dirty Pampers, environmental experts are requesting that we stop putting diapers on our infants and try parenting for a change. If we can tell when the dog needs to "take a walk", we should surely be able to discern when our own children hear the call of nature, and quickly dangle them over a wood-chipper or something to do their duty. Perhaps one day, in a more enlightened age, parents will follow their butt-naked children around the park with pooper scoopers.

And finally -

I don't have a very high opinion of satirists. Satire is merely a way for unintelligent, emotionally unstable people to make themselves look clever. A perfect example is The Therapist, who thinks he's funny, but only comes off being very mean and spiteful. I read it daily, if only to see how low he will sink.

That does it for my first, and hopefully last Link Dump. Believe me, this has hurt me more than it hurt you, and I promise that in the future should I not have anything worthy to post, I'll do us all a favor and not post anything at all.

If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times: I LOVE TAXES! April 15th is like Christmas for Progressives, and I look forward to it every year. I admit that I sometimes become mildly miffed that my paychecks keep getting smaller and smaller, but I'm fully cognizant that it's because the wealthiest Americans refuse to pay my fair share. Unlike greedy conservatives who cling to the fruits of their labor as if they actually "earned" them, I'm also mature enough to know that in a functioning society, confiscatory taxation is necessary in order to fund social services for the poor and vulnerable. People like little Julio, the blind, double-amputee child from Costa Rica who earns minimum wage working as a foot stool for a wealthy Republican banker. Or little Ashley, the blind, quadraplegic grandmother who spends her days slithering around the railroad tracks for discarded pop cans. While selfish conservatives would prefer we abandon poor Julio and Ashley for the sake of a few extra pennies in their paychecks, we must not let the fact that neither of these individuals exist harden our hearts to their suffering. Military spending notwithstanding, every tax that a benevolent state places on it's people is for their own good. Simply put, taxation is a beautiful expression of a mother's love for her children.

With Washington democrats controlling both branches of the state legislature and the governor's mansion, they've been spreading the love like its going out of style. And there are so many ways to say "I Love You".

We have a wonderful new tax on SPAM, for instance. I recall with great fondness my financially lean college years, when many a Friday night would be spent alone in my dorm room, nibbling on slices of SPAM pressed between two saltine crackers. I remember thinking as I licked the thick, gelatinous, SPAM goo off my fingers, "Gosh, the only way life could be any better would be if this crap cost nine bucks a can." Besides, we had such a bumper crop of SPAM this year, there's no reason not to share a little bit of the wealth to help the poor, blind, inner-city children from which SPAM is made.

We were also just treated to a 10 cent gas tax hike to pay for road repairs they'll never make and a choo-choo train no one will ride. Republicans are of course complaining, as they always do. They don't mind the money we spend on gas going into the pockets of their Big Oil Buddies, but they throw a complete hissy if we keep a few measly pennies here at home so the poor, inner-city children of union bosses don't have to subsist on SPAM to survive.

A new tax on botox injections and cosmetic surgery probably wouldn't pass in Massachusetts or California, but it's gaining ground here in the Evergreen State where the funds could be used to help - of all people - poor, inner-city children. In the past couple of weeks, there have been almost as many complaints as there have been new taxes, but as long as there are exemptions for gender modification, I think its a great idea.

Gov. Christine Gregoire, who was reluctant to bless us with new taxes during her campaign, has promised to raise and reinstate some of the old taxes instead, so it'll seem like we're being anally raped by old friends. She has also proposed to close the dreaded Estate Tax Loophole, which has allowed untold rich people to use death as an excuse to avoid paying my fair share.

There's also a new tax on extended computer warranties, which I can't explain but I'm sure will go to help the poor, inner city children who so desperately need it.

All these taxes make me as giddy as a little girl, but my favorite revenue enhancer of all is the Sin Tax, because it perfectly illustrates the state's superiority over the church as the interpreter of morality. Indeed, whereas God and the Bible are hazy and ambiguous in regards to the definition of "sin", Our Loving Mother in Olympia sends a clear message through the use of taxation that activities such as smoking, gambling, drinking, and eating SPAM are unacceptable. Adultery and abortion, however, are not taxed and therefore aren't official "sins". And while the church demands you ask forgiveness for your sins and then "sin no more", the state encourages you to go right on sinning, for the funds from sin taxes go to help the poor, inner-city blind children and their quadruple amputee grandmothers. By turning an evil act into a good deed, the state effectively absolves you of the sin while you're in the very commission of it! Try to get a deal like that from Pope Hitler.

By the way, the state liquor stores will now be open on Sundays so be sure to stop by and pick up a bottle of Jack on your way home from Church. Do it for the poor, inner-city, blind children.

I just can't seem to get into the Earth Day spirit this year. Between Easter, the death of Pope Torquemada and the subsequent election of Pope Hitler, the fundies have completely turned the whole vernal equinox into a great big psuedo-religious farce. I'm so burned out on Xian bullshit that even the appearance in my emailbox of a very special Earth Day message from Steven Seagal failed to put me in a festive mood.

On the other hand, what's to celebrate, anyway? Our ecosystem is on the verge of collapse, thanks to Bush. His Big Oil Buddies are drilling in the once pristine Alaskan National Wildlife Refuge. The rotting corpses of dead CIA agents are polluting the once pristine waters of the Tigris River. Carcinogens are polluting the once pristine follicles of Jane Fonda's hair. The ice caps are melting, Mt. St. Helens is erupting, and human fingers are springing out of our once pristine chili. The whole wyrld is going to hell in a non-biodegradable handbasket and that CHIMP doesn't even give a damn. One would think that SElected peeResident in thiEF could find a little time in his busy schedule to come down off the mountain and celebrate an international celebration of peace and love with the little Whos of Whoville. But then again, he probably couldn't get Pat Robertson's permission.

One thing's for certain: a President Ralph Nader would never have been so consumed by superstitious religious beliefs that he'd be afraid to wear flowers in his hair and dance naked amongst the sacred ferns with the Elders of the Olde Way. Then again, Ralph Nader doesn't get his kicks pouring barrels of arsenic into our water supply.

Straight off a Care Bears lunch pail comes the wisdom of Iddybud, "a constant and nagging reminder of the existence of universal love."

The special-needs brainchild of Jude Nagurnsey Cromwell, Iddybud seeks out the stories that the mainstream media blows off as the demented paranoid fantasies of undermedicated schizophrenics, crossbreeds them with DNC talking points, and thus provides them the legitimacy they'd never have on a more rational weblog. A divine amalgamate of pretentious pap, breathtaking graphics, and the occasional money shot of her breasts, Iddybud could be MoxieGrrl's creepy kid sister.

However, I must confess that Jude and I sort of have a "history". We actually met and fell in love on a political bulletin board a few years ago, way back before she got the boobs done. As two lonely blue state intellectuals divided by thousands of miles of ignorant red states, we found romance mewling together over a plethora of important issues, from human rights to peace in the Middle East.

"I think the Palestinians are more like the original Americans," she once told me. "England had the money and machinery, and we had the spirit of freedom."

Though she may seem dimmer than Terry Schiavo after 17 bong hits, make no mistake: Jude is an award winning journalist, with nineteen feet of accolades pasted into her sidebar. Avery Walker of AveryWalker.com raves: "I love oxblog, wonkette, iddybud and American Amnesia as much as the next guy". Ruddy Gore gushes: "She has one of the more aesthetically pleasing blogs out there." With credentials like those, Jude is bound for internet stardom.

Hours after being chosen, the newly elected Pope Benedict XVI remains alive and healthy, shattering hopes that the 78-year old pontiff would serve a short, transitional reign. Pilgrims are already starting to slowly filter out of St. Peter's Square, and Vatican gift shops have reported a 13% decline in the sale of souvenir Pope hats. The Catholic church must be kicking itself that it didn't embrace the concept of Death with Dignity when it had the chance. Now, they will have to sit by helplessly as Pope Benny lingers on for another 20 years, angering many German Catholics who consider his hardline, pro-Catholic views divisive and antiquated, and fear his conservative stance against sodomy will alienate their French allies.

As a Cardinal, Pope Benny was no stranger to controversy, often criticizing Catholic priests who opened their doors to practicing wiccans and goat worshippers. A strict disciplinarian, he also sparred openly with German cardinals who actually WERE practicing wiccans and goat worshippers, punishing one by squeezing his head in a vice until his eye popped out.

His polarizing adherence to traditional Catholic dogma gives cardinals ample reason to pray that the new Pope will croak expeditiously. However, as of 1:30 PM Pacific Standard Time, the pontiff has failed to assume room temperature. Hopefully, the right-wing fascist philosophy he nurtured in his years as a Hitler Youth will encourage moderate U.S. Catholics to leave the church, have abortions, and vote democrat.

As millions of pilgrims continued to hack up gallons of black, sooty phlegm, violent coughing gave way to jubilant cheers as plumes of white smoke shot out of the train whistle atop the Sistine Chapel and immediately began intimidating and opressing the cloud of black smoke hanging over St. Peter's Square. The funkadelic sounds of George Clinton that had been blaring out of loudspeakers for days was quickly replaced with church bells and close harmony Gregorian chanting, the traditional signal that a new Pope had been chosen.

Although this was the quickest and smoothest Pope election in papal history, tempers flared when then cardinal from Florida became confused and voted for Pat Buchanan. But when the black smoke finally cleared, the godly gang unanimously agreed that the new Pope would be none other than Italian actor and devout Catholic, Joe Pesci. A scuffle broke out during the closed door meeting when one of the cardinals called him a "funny guy", but Joe, aka Pope Benedict XVI, was confirmed this morning and awarded the coveted neon Pope hat, and use of the company car.

It is a joyous occasion indeed for many Catholics, but the thousands of same-sex couples and abortionists gathered outside St. Peter's Basilica wonder if this new pontiff will have the courage to bring the church into the 21st century, or will he simply call them "sh** kickin', stinky, horse-manure smellin' motherf*****s" and whack them upside the head with a baseball bat.

A week after Pope John Paul was brutally murdered in the prime of his life, a thick, sooty cloud of black smog lies over the tiny burgh of Vatican City. In the once solemn and peaceful St. Peter's Square, crowds of wailing Pope Nuts desperately claw at their throats for air.

Right after skateboarding accidents and botched exorcisms, second-hand Pope Smoke is the third leading cause of death in the Vatican. Yet Bush does nothing. The Sistine Chapel continues to belch plumes of black death into the sky unabated. Kyoto remains unsigned and thousands more will perish for lack of oxygen while Bush dances on like a puppet on the strings of his fundamentalist masters.

I loathe the term "blogosphere". It's too cold and impersonal. I prefer to think of this thing of ours as an "electronic village", where people with similar interests come together to share ideas. Since it takes a village to raise a child, we must act as a community to nurture and protect all the newly hatched liberal bloggers from the harsh realities of this right-wing dominated blogosphere. Therefore, I will sporadically and at completely random intervals impart some of the golden boogers of wisdom I've accumulated over the past three years. Hopefully, I will provide a valuable resource, an internet safe-zone where progressives can find the tools they need to defeat any ignorant repugs who creep into their blogs and spam their comment boards with snide remarks.

Lesson #1: The Hitler Mustache

Being a liberal blogger requires not only the regular inhalation of vast amounts of household cleansers, but strict diligence in constantly reminding the mindless sheeple of the insidious evil of the Bush junta. As a rule, it's good practice to compare Bush to Hitler at least once a week. But if you're like me, you have little patience for dimwitted repugs who refuse to acknowledge the obvious. Even adding "itler" to the end of his name fails to convince them. Often, they'll actually demand you present "facts" to back up your claims - a typical right-wing tactic to lower the debate to their level. That's why it's important to arm yourself against the infuriating ignorance of your average conservative blog troll.

One of the most powerful weapons in a liberal blogger's arsenal is the dreaded Hitler mustache. When scrawled upon the visage of a political adversary, it surpasses even the devil horns and goatee as a means of transforming him into Satan incarnate. Why waste time trying to form a coherent argument when a simple black smudge will say all that needs to be said?

Take the late, great George Gobel, for instance. By looking at him, one would never imagine that this mild-mannered, soft-spoken comedian was personally responsible for the systematic extermination of over six million innocents. But give him a little Hitler mustache, and voila! I'll be a dirty bird if Lonesome George isn't Der Fuhrer himself! Add a swastika armband and superimpose him on a Nazi flag, and even the staunchest conservative will be unable to deny the truth: Lonsumfuhrer George Göbels was a Nazi Stooge.

The beauty of the whole thing is that there's absolutely no way to respond to it. What are they going to say? "He's NOT Hitler"? Well I'm sorry, cowboy, but I have photographic evidence right here that says he IS.

Still, conservatives are as predictible as they are ignorant, and will typically claim that the photos are fakes - as if authenticity has anything to do with accuracy. That's why it's always good to throw them a bone and provide a series of indisputable similarities between the subject and Hitler. For instance, George Gobel was a patriot, and Hitler wrapped himself in patriotism in order to crush dissent. Hitler invaded Poland, and Gobel invaded The Hollywood Squares. George Gobel played the banjo, and so did Hitler. The list goes on and on and on.

When presented with such incontravertible evidence, most cons will give up and crawl off in search of a hate-radio jock to tell them what to think. Still, some will linger, if only to berate you for enlightening them with your wisdom and insight. These dingbat fundies will blindly worship some great big floating God in the sky, but will refuse to accept reality even when it's kicking down their door and dragging them off to gitmo in the dead of night. So that's when I like to bring out the big guns.